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Spacing out during a conversation while they're speaking and needing to regain focus.

Peter had a healing factor, and while it was annoying to be hit with colds hard and fast, he got over them way faster than a normal person. At least, that's what he tried to tell himself on the way out the door.

May didn't understand that, though, so she'd freaked when he'd woken up sicker than any cold used to make him and made the mistake of telling her at breakfast. She'd jumped into mom mode before he could disarm her, and before he knew it, she'd somehow managed to con Mr. Stark into babysitting him for the day instead of letting him handle a little fever at school.

He couldn't completely hold it against her. They only really had each other left, and he could see himself reacting similarly if she was so sick, but he couldn't afford to go along with it. It just wasn't possible; the timing was wrong. Calling out sick and missing another decathlon competition would put him on thin ice with the team if it didn't get him booted first. Plus, it wasn't even a big deal. He'd most likely be fully recovered by lunch.

That was all the thinking he needed before he pulled a fast one with his babysitter. He stuttered all the way through his request for "Tony" to pick up orange juice, but he'd fallen for it anyway. The name slid off his tongue weirdly—too informal and friendly for someone he admired and who had over thirty years advantage on him—but it was the man's easiest weakness to exploit without feeling too guilty about doing so.

He gave Mr. Stark sixty seconds of distance before he slipped out the window and took the long way out of the neighborhood to avoid the closest convenience store.

That was what led him here. He'd had to muffle several rounds of coughing into his sleeve during the bus trip to Albany, and he had several moments of severe regret over not grabbing any Tylenol on the way out the door (or window, so to speak), but overall, things were going great. No one on the team was mad at him beyond Flash's usual hang ups, and Mr. Stark hadn't hunted him down.

Or at least no one was mad until the competition started.

The fever was probably to blame, but he couldn't stay focused on the questions. He'd fought it by buzzing to answer anyway, but that had led to way too many uncomfortable silences from the audience while he gathered his thoughts after being given the floor.

He'd managed to answer four of the ten or eleven questions he volunteered for without running out of time and sacrificing the point to the other team. No one looked happy with him, but MJ was downright livid after only one round.

"That's enough from you," she berated him. "I don't know what's going on here, but you throwing the match? It's bullshit! You need to step down and let Flash take over or you're off the team. Permanently."

He'd never seen MJ so explosively angry. They weren't close, but he'd seen her pissed before. It was a terrifying show of icy criticism, delivered with barely a hint of emotion.

This was different. He'd really made her angry, and he couldn't fix it today. It was too much… Everything was too much. He still felt awful and he had a headache and even coughing hurt and he betrayed both May's and Mr. Stark's trust and now MJ hated him too and it was all too much.

He knew better than to stick with the team after that, not while his failure was still fresh in everyone's minds. Ned might have been an understanding ear, but he hadn't gotten kicked out of the rest of the day's rounds, so he was busy.

It wasn't his last resort, but a secluded bathroom stall wasn't his first preference either. It was what he was stuck with, though, because screw it. He felt bad, the whole day was going horribly, and if he wanted to cry in a deserted bathroom for a few minutes, he damn well would.

"I knew I shouldn't have left you."

Peter jumped at the voice before he thought to scrub the tear tracks from his face, but it was already too late to hide. He slowly turned to find Mr. Stark fully suited up with only his face visible standing next to the door. He laughed and reached for the emotion needed for proper puppy eyes in a weak attempt to charm his way out of a thorough chewing out from both Mr. Stark and probably Aunt May too.

"Uhhh, hi, Mr. Stark! Weird meeting you here!"

"Yeah, no, it's not."

Shit. He definitely wasn't disarmed by the puppy eyes this time. Then again, why should anything Peter did convince him after he already tricked him once today? He was the worst.

"You're not the worst, kid." Oh. He'd always thought the idea of accidentally speaking thoughts aloud was laughably out of touch with reality, but that was just what he needed to top off the day, wasn't it?

"A pain in my ass? Absolutely. But not the worst."

That simple forgiveness combined with the lingering fever was all he needed to break down in tears again. So much for handling himself.